


You Don't Have to Kiss to Be Intimate

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 3b aka when hook cannot touch his mouth to emma's mouth, Angst, Smut, Smutty Angst, angsty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: post 3.17 "The Jolly Roger." Emma knows something is wrong with Hook, but he won't confide in her. That's fine; she knows other ways to make him use his mouth.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hook. Hey, Hook!  _Killian_ , wait up!”

He slowed down, his back arching as one leg hovered with exaggeration before dropping. Emma sighed as he straightened, waiting for her to catch up. Fucking  _finally_.

“Hey,” she huffed, jogging over to where he’d stopped. “Didn’t you hear me yelling?”

“Sorry, Swan. I did not.” He eyed her askance, the corner of his mouth pulling down into a slight frown. “Apologies. I was merely on my way back to my room.”

Emma tried to ignore the deep, uncomfortable tug in her gut that was telling her that he’d  _totally_ heard her, which was hard to do because there was also a deep, uncomfortable yank in her gut telling her that something was going on with him. But it wasn’t like they were confidantes or anything, or even friends, really. So, she let it go, as she’d been doing since he’d looked her square in the eye earlier that evening and lied to her face. She’d actually offered to open herself up to him, and he’d turned her down flat. Fine, whatever; they weren’t friends, or comrades, or even allies. Just two people currently fighting on the same side who occasionally fucked.

And like always, all it took was a slight acknowledgement of it for her mind to start thinking about that exact thing–them fucking, nice and hard.

He was  _really_ good at it.

She looked him up and down, at the way he was trying so hard to look nonchalant. How someone so unnaturally comfortable in head-to-toe leather who wore eyeliner and had a damn hook for a hand could ever look so unconcerned was always beyond her, but Hook managed it most days.

He wasn’t managing it now, though. That feeling deep down inside flared, hot and bright, the one that she had always thought of as her finely-honed instinct but only now truly understood was her magic–an overwhelming belly-sickness washing over her in waves, tickling at the bottom of her throat and making her swallow reflexively.  _Something is wrong._

But Emma understood keeping bad shit to yourself. She couldn’t just force confidences from the guy, especially not with the way she sort of insisted on keeping him at a distance. It would be unfair to make him confide in her if she never really confided in him, so. She wouldn’t. Even if she  _was_ kind of feeling hurt that for the first time in a long time, Hook didn’t seem to want to be following her every move and making sure that she was doing okay.

Was he losing interest?

She didn’t think so. God, what if he finally decided she wasn’t worth it? He’d spent a year or whatever figuring out how to get back to her in New York, and she hadn’t even thanked him. Well, not with words, but she kind of assumed that he knew she was grateful when she’d given him a blow job on her couch back in New York. And then let him fuck her in the alley by her parents’ loft after they’d made it back to Storybrooke. And at least a dozen times since he’d reclaimed his room at Granny’s. He had to know that she didn’t let just  _anyone_ fuck her all over the place. He had to know that  _meant_ something.

 _And what, pray tell, does it mean, exactly, Swan?_  she heard him ask in her head. Then she made a scoffing sound out loud, because it’s not like they’d ever actually talked about the fact that they’d been doing it ever since she’d kissed him back in Neverland.

“Something wrong, Swan?”

“Fuckin’ A,” she muttered. She nearly laughed at the perplexed expression on his face, his “whatever does that mean” look that he gave her a lot, the one that she secretly adored and kind of wanted to tease out of him on a regular basis. She could just see it, too–making all kinds of pop culture references on purpose just to make that wrinkle appear between his brows, the one she had once kind of, sort of bitten as he made her come hard, her head thrown back in ecstasy along with her need to make the moment he’d touched his forehead to hers less intimate by keeping it about her need for good sex.

_Sex, sex, sex. Is that all you can think about?_

_Yeah._

She’d been feeling so good, too, dammit. What with Regina helping her to control her magic a little better and Henry being so excited about his first experience driving, she’d been downright looking forward to going and having a nice dinner at Granny’s to celebrate stuff that wasn’t really in need of celebration. Emma had learned to take those moments whenever they were offered, though–simple meals with her family, Henry’s sweet and beaming smile, her success in mirror magic. So much about their lives was utterly shitty that if she didn’t stop and appreciate the good things, stupid and insignificant as they were, she’d probably drown in her own bleak thoughts and a bottle of cheap whiskey.

So, she’d invited Hook to join her in her joy.

And he’d refused.  _Refused_.

She’d known something was wrong before that–since when did Hook not only  _not_ take a compliment but try to downplay it?–but when he’d been all squirrelly and in a rush to get away from her, it had sort of cemented it. So now she was stuck in this weird place where she wanted to ask him to just fucking tell her what was going on and dreading that he’d actually give her an honest answer. Because she knew, somehow, that it had to do with her. And how he felt about her.

You know, the one topic she avoided like the plague.

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’m quite tired, so I’m just going to go back to my room.” He turned to go without so much as a “good night,” and that’s what made her get furious with him. She wanted to grab him, to scream at him to just tell her what was going on, but their relationship ( _what_ relationship?) wasn’t really like that, was it? No, she’d made damned sure of that from the get-go.

What their so-called relationship was like was that she just showed up at his room sometimes without saying a word and let him put his hand down her pants. Or rode him like she was a rodeo champ defending her title. Or sprawled herself out on his bed and yanked on his hair while he ate her out like a porn star defending his…porn star status. Whatever, they’d been having a lot of sex. It was the best way she knew how to communicate her feelings without actually having to communicate her feelings.

So, Emma decided to deal with her fury the only way she knew how. Maybe Hook wouldn’t tell her what was going on with him, why he was suddenly pulling away, but she could make him tell her in the same way she always told him things–by using her body and the fact that they were really good at having sex together. The least she could do was offer; he wouldn’t turn down a good roll in the hay. He might be pulling away from her emotionally–because what else could it be, right? Another man decides Emma Swan isn’t worth the effort, shocking (and she once again ignored the roiling, sickening feeling in her gut at the thought)–but he was a healthy, red-blooded pirate. He wouldn’t turn her down.

Would he?

The uncertainty propelled her forward. Emma wasn’t certain about a lot of things, and she sure as hell didn’t know how she’d let it get to the point that she’d thought she was so certain about him–so in a ridiculous bid to test that out, she called out again and waited until he turned to face her, then swaggered up to  _him_ for once.

It was the most gratifying thing in the world when his eyes widened in confusion that quickly turned to lusty interest.

So he  _was_ still interested in her.

Brushing away the “thank God” that flitted through her mind, Emma stepped forward until they were inches apart. She moistened her lips, letting her tongue linger longer than necessary and feeling triumphant when he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her mouth.

“Can I walk you back to your place?”

He chuckled softly before cocking his head to the side, the movement that always made her crazy because it showed off so much of his throat when he did it.

“I, uh…” He trailed off and looked away, reaching up to scratch behind his ear.  _A-ha!_  she wanted to shout while pointing accusingly.  _You only do that when you’re nervous! Tell me! Let me in!_

But again, they weren’t like that.

“Come on, Captain.” She closed the inch-and-a-half space between them, bumping his chest with hers and smiling seductively, even though inside she was kind of a mass of messy confusion (and just a little bit of hurt). “I promise to be gentle.”

It was almost unfair to him, she knew that. But she couldn’t really care when he gulped visibly before nodding, this dumb look overtaking his face and making her feel like she’d both won the lotto and tricked a kid into giving her his milk money for the ticket.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the way her thoughts were going, Emma smiled up at him once more before walking away and toward Granny’s B&B, utterly confident that he was right behind her. And he didn’t disappoint–when she’d done her best to tiptoe up the stairs, knowing it wouldn’t do any good because Granny had ears like, well, a wolf, she’d stopped right at his door and had to stifle a gasp when he pressed up against the entire length of her, his erection already present and nestling into the small of her back.

“Will it be silence tonight?” he whispered into her ear, his breath hot and his words stoking the fire kindling within. She felt his hand brush against her waist, heard the scratch and click of a key being inserted into the lock. She closed her eyes and allowed the feeling of relief that Hook seemed to be back, even if it was just for this moment. Even if it was the last time.

God, it couldn’t be the last time, could it?

“Would you like me to fuck you quietly, or would you like a whispered litany of all the dirty things I think about all day long?” He hadn’t actually opened the door when he’d unlocked it, so Emma felt every inch of him on her back as he pressed her body into the door. “How I want to… _ah_ ,” he gasped, “ _fuck_.” She smirked; she’d pressed back against his cock, frustrated that it wasn’t aligned anywhere fun but glad she could do that to him. He was so goddamned glib all the time, it was nice to be able to make the man stumble over his own words every once in awhile.

Before he could retaliate, which was definitely on the table–although lately their fucking had been much more give and take rather than the conquering variety–she opened the door, stifling the urge to laugh when he stumbled in right behind her.

Emma turned to face him, annoyed that it was dark and she couldn’t see his face clearly. Hard as it was to see how he looked at her sometimes, when it was just the two of them and they were definitely going to fuck, she  _liked_ seeing that look in his eyes, like he was either sitting down to his first feast after years of starvation or that she was his sworn enemy and he was going to get her good, but preferably some combination of the two. She took a step backward and toward the bed, knowing there wouldn’t be any clothes or spare hooks or other trip hazards laying around like there were in her room. Hook was meticulous and neat; even Granny complained that he never gave her anything to work with. Keeping her eyes on him, she continued to back away toward the bedside table, reaching out to flick on the lamp there and curling the corner of her mouth when he was, indeed, looking at her like he was going to eat her alive.

She licked her lips and focused on his face–that sensual mouth of his, the one that had whispered filthy promises in her ear only a moment before–and that’s when he did something weird, something that screamed _something is wrong!_ at her one more time: he looked away.

He covered it up quickly–ever the quick-thinker, that Hook–turning to shut and lock the door. The brief moment when his back was turned gave her the chance to school her face–she knew it had dropped in disappointment, and it annoyed the shit out of her. A stray thought flitted in her mind– _how dare he make me feel disappointed!_ –and it was what decided her course of action for the night. Something was wrong with Killian Jones, and for once, Emma was the one who was picking up on things of the emotional variety. And he wasn’t fucking talking to her about it. He was  _always_ talking. Fine, he didn’t want to use his mouth for once in his goddamned life? She could deal with that.

Feeling a surge of righteous indignation reinvigorated her and filled her with purpose; she marched toward the selfish pirate who didn’t want to share and stopped right in front of him, reaching out to yank on the lapels of his coat. She let go when he leaned down, sliding her hands under the leather collar, grasping at his shoulders before flicking her wrists up. She knocked the coat off and continued its removal by sliding her hands down his arms. He quickly caught on, helping her by shrugging out of it and letting it drop at his feet. A far-off corner of her mind wondered when they’d become so good at this–navigating around his hook, that thing that could cause so much damage. The thing that seemed to be the source of his own self-hatred. The thing that had just become a part of him, to the point that she no longer even noticed it.

“I take it we’re going with silence,” he murmured somewhat unnecessarily, but Hook was nothing if not a series of unnecessary sentences. And looks. And face, his face was so  _unnecessary_ but still, she wanted to see it.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she told him, pressing up on her toes and leading with her mouth.

She watched him lick his own lips, and that made about a hundred different filthy remembrances of just what his tongue was capable of flash through her mind, but before she could taste his tongue with hers, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her to him, burying his face in her neck and immediately sucking her skin between his teeth. She gasped and he let out a short, muffled groan; this was what she wanted, now and always. This exact feeling. His desperation, whatever its source, hot and pressed against her, and him trying like hell to make it go away with  _this_ , this heat they always managed to generate between the two of them. He shifted them until her knees hit the back of the bed, leaning forward until she flopped backward willingly, a grin on her face. She liked it when he lost control–it gave her a glimpse into something delicious, something she wanted to touch and taste and feel.

He loomed over her, his eyes dark and glittering in the faint light coming from the lamp. Emma licked her lips, wondering how this would play out and tingling with giddy anticipation. She watched as he reached for the front of his pants, palming and then cupping himself through the leather. She licked her lips again, the need to taste him suddenly strong and overpowering.

“What’re you waiting for, sailor?” she said, gently kicking her leg out and tapping the side of him with it.

He didn’t answer. Right, silence. She could work with that. The first hot, heady times they’d come together, neither of them had said much of anything beyond “yeah” and “there” and “harder.” Wordlessly, she lifted up onto her elbows and then raised one hand, turning her palm up and curling a finger in a come-hither gesture. The corner of his mouth lifted, but she could see there was no amusement in it. Fine; she couldn’t tease him out of his mood and she couldn’t get him to talk to her; luckily for Emma, she knew how to get a rise out of him, so to speak.

When he finally bent down, carefully setting hand and hook on either side of her shoulders, she waited until he put a knee down between her legs to take action. As he was precariously balanced above her, fixing her with that intensity he always had in these moments, she reached up and pressed both palms just below his shoulders and lifted her leg; in one neat maneuver, she had him flipped over and flat on his back with nothing more than an oof and a smile.

Finally, an indication that he was enjoying himself.

Emma rose and stood beside the bed, just between his legs. Folding her arms, she looked down at the picture he made on top of the faded quilt covering the bed, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. On any given day he looked like a cautionary tale, the guy your parents and good sense warn you about–it was part of the appeal, she knew that. A dark man with dark purposes who looked like he’d give a girl a good time–three things that were true, she knew that from experience. It was times like this, though, when she had him panting and ready and on a mattress (or up against a wall or in a bar bathroom or on the floor of a jungle), that she wondered what it was about her that made him allow himself to be vulnerable like this, considering how dangerous he was.

And sometimes, she even let herself wonder what it was about  _him_ that made  _her_ be vulnerable like this.

She shook the thought away before it could fully form; now was not the time to wonder about her own failings as a person. Now, she had a hot pirate in front of her, waiting for her to do something since she’d made it clear she was in charge and he’d made it clear that he was okay with that.

Well, she may as well make it clear that even if he didn’t want to share whatever it was that was bothering him, she could still do this.

Emma reached down for the waistband of his pants and quickly began to unbuckle and unlace, something she’d fumbled in the beginning but was getting pretty good at doing now. She kept eye contact with him the entire time, wanting to see if there was any indication at all that he was no longer interested in doing this with her, but if it was there, she didn’t see it. Of  _course_ he’s still interested, she acknowledged to herself, but she kept the soft smile she felt creeping up on her lips from forming.

When she’d finally loosened his pants enough, she reached in to feel him, but he stopped her with a hand loosely gripping her wrist.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you first, Swan?” he asked, his voice soft and full of tension. There it was again, that aching vulnerability of his. She could see that he was warring with himself; he always, always made sure she felt good, but she knew that he liked it when she touched him, too. And boy, did she like touching him–feeling his thickness, feeling how hard he got. His eagerness. Hook was an excellent lover, not just because he knew what he was doing, but because he was attentive and giving. Of all the guys she’d ever fucked, he was definitely the best of them all.

Really, she ought to thank him for that.

It was that easy. Smirking as she affirmed her decision, she dropped to her knees and leaned down so that her arms rested along his thighs. Confused for only a second, Hook’s eyes widened once again in that combination of confused lust with awakening realization when her fingers danced along his waist and near his hips. She hooked under the leather, tugging down and raising her eyebrows at him significantly. She parted her lips and made a show of slowly licking every inch of them then looked down at the bulge in his pants; his shuddering, indrawn breath made everything worth it.

“Swan, you don’t have to–”

“I want to.”

“All right.”

Without another word, he lifted his hips, wriggling and helping lower his pants until they were shoved down about halfway down his thighs. He made to kick them off, but she stopped him quite effectively when she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock. There was already a bit of moisture there and she felt it on the bow of her lips; tasting it with the pointy tip of her tongue and a smile, she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

His eyes were mere slits and his head was thrown back, his jaw clenching wildly as he stared at her. Recklessness surged through her blood; sure, she’d given him some cursory head a few times, but she’d always been too greedy, too consumed with the need to come that she’d never seen it through to the end. Well, this time, she’d show him what she was capable of. He wasn’t the only one who could give mind-blowing head.

Gently grasping low on his shaft, she drew his flesh down, then took the head of his cock into her mouth and relaxed her jaw, closing her eyes and savoring the moment. He wasn’t so big that it was unbearable, but he was pretty damned impressive. Swiping her tongue around him, she swirled a few times until she felt like she could take him in deeper, and then she did. Slowly, and with gradual suction. He jerked his hips a little, a very short, very tightly-controlled movement that clearly meant he was doing his best to not thrust up into her throat.

She kind of wanted him to. He was so fucking careful around her all the time, but she’d noticed lately that he had been poking at the edges of her frayed emotions with more frequency, withdrawing when she got a little too defensive, which was often. She wondered what it would be like if and when he finally just lost his shit and yelled at her. She wondered what it would be like if Captain Hook lost some of that patience he had, two hundred years’ worth of vengeful patience, and she wondered what it would be like if he thrust up while she was blowing him.

Suddenly, it seemed like the only thing in the world she wanted from him. So, she set out to make it happen. She couldn’t control much in her life, but she could probably make  _him_ lose control.

She pulled back all the way until it was just her lips brushing at the tip of him, her hot breath blowing across him. She flicked out her tongue and tickled his slit, looking up when he made a strangled moan; readjusting her grip around the base of him, she loosened her jaw as she went as far down as she could, taking him into her mouth until she could feel him bumping the back of her throat. She squeezed low on his cock, moving her wrist in such a way as she eased back up, twisting again as she went back down. He began writhing in tight circles beneath her; she focused on that, on his movements, working her mouth over him back and forth, creating an easy rhythm that he seemed to be enjoying, if his increasingly loud and strained moans were any indication.

When his breathing picked up, these short, shallow pants that indicated he was already close, she sighed; he usually spent a good twenty minutes going down on her, when she let him; it seemed unfair that it was so easy to get him to come so quickly. She could feel an ache deep down inside and it occurred to her that she could totally stop, could totally release his cock from her mouth with a good, nasty pop and climb aboard, riding him until they were both panting, sweaty messes.

But she didn’t. She wanted to see it through.

She continued her carefully balanced dance of swirling and twisting, a tear sneaking down her cheek at the effort and her hand and lips now very sloppy and wet with her own saliva, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice much of anything at all. His back was slightly arched but his neck was straining, his head lifting toward her, his eyes watching her every move. It made her feel powerful; her magic sort of beamed a happy, horny zap of sensation through her in response.

She reached up with her unoccupied hand, running it along his thigh and toward where she was working. With careful fingers, she reached under her work space and cupped his balls, tickling and massaging the sensitive area underneath. That did it. With a strangled gasp he reached out, his fingers tangling in her hair; she knew the signs. She ducked down, her jaw aching but still loose, and just in time, too–he began to come, his cock surging in her mouth, shockingly strong pulses as she felt him empty into the back of her throat. Releasing her twin grasps, she slowly slid back, laughing a little when he tensed and giggle-groaned as she gave him one last tickling kiss before pulling away completely. She swiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she swallowed, trying not to grimace in case he was looking.

When she finally looked down at him, he was staring at her with a new intense look, as if the guy didn’t already have enough of those in his arsenal. It was a little funny, looking at Captain Hook like this–shirt still on but pants halfway down his legs, utterly boneless and obviously satisfied while still having a deadly weapon attached to one of his arms. He could hurt her so, so easily.

But she knew he never would.

“You’re awfully good at that, love,” he rasped, somewhat breathlessly. It filled her with new satisfaction;  _I did that to him_ , she thought with pride. She stood up, groaning as her knees creaked, and crawled up onto the bed to lay next to him. He was always so complimentary after (and during) sex; if she was being really honest with herself, it was her favorite part of the entire thing. When he told her she was beautiful when she came, or that she made the most delicious sounds. That she tasted better than his dreams had ever prepared him for, that he wanted nothing more than to lay her out on a ship in the ocean with no one around so that he could worship her perfect body before the stars and all the gods in the heavens for hours on end.

Even though she was all keyed up, there was something in the quiet stillness after she turned to her side, not really looking at him, but not not looking at him. He lifted his arm, crooking his elbow and pausing in invitation;  _go ahead, love_ , his eyes told her, so she did. She rested her head on his shoulder and shifted over so that she was flush with his side. He lowered his arm so that it rested on her back, and she stifled a sigh when his hand brushed through her hair.

Eventually she fell asleep; she woke some time later, a little confused at first because, well. She’d never really allowed herself this particular intimacy with him. She gently extracted herself, noticing that even in sleep, he didn’t grip her to him, didn’t force her to stay. When she’d pulled away enough to sit at the side of the bed, Emma looked over her shoulder and laughed softly; he was lying there, his pants still halfway down his legs, a gentle smile on his lips.

She let herself out, feeling only slightly guilty that she was ditching him, but hey. They weren’t a spending-the-night kind of couple.

They weren’t any kind of couple at all.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The days that followed were frustrating. They weren’t making any headway at  _all_ when it came to the Wicked Witch. Then there was that weird business with summoning Cora, and Emma’s continuing fun with trying to strengthen her magic.

None of it, however, was nearly as annoying as Hook’s attitude with Emma. She figured it was because she’d just up and left him after what she thought was a mind-blowing BJ, but that thing deep down inside told her that wasn’t exactly it. That he’d been that way before that night.

Something was bugging Hook. She  _really_ wanted to know what.

So, she decided she was going to find out. If that meant seducing him again, well. Who was she to complain with what worked? The two of them were definitely fucked up, but couldn’t they be fucked up together, while fucking?

Emma knew that they couldn’t continue this way, she  _knew_ that, and yet. She didn’t know how else to be with him, so she decided to go with what she knew.

And what she knew was that Captain Hook-- _Killian Jones_ \--wouldn’t refuse her advances.

In the past, they’d sort of just ended up together. Well, okay--that first kiss in Neverland had totally been all her, but she’d been feeling good and he’d been there, all damp and flushed and hot and warm--so she’d gone for it. But the other times? Circumstance. They spent so much time together that it was almost inevitable. At least that’s what she told herself.

Then the other night, she’d had to actually chase him down, and now that she’d had a few days to obsess about  _that_ in between holding fucking séances and constantly looking over her shoulder for that wicked, green bitch, Emma realized that Hook was actively avoiding her.

A few years ago she might’ve just shrugged that off. The guy she was sleeping with was losing interest? Fuck ‘im, she didn’t need him, anyway. But...in Hook’s case, it was seriously out of character. He never gave up on  _anything_. He’d sought revenge for hundreds of years, or whatever it was. He’d turned pirate because he couldn’t turn away from the memory of his brother. And he’d never told her how, exactly, he’d found her in New York, but she figured he’d moved heaven and earth and probably entire realms to get to her. All of these things pointed to a stubborn guy who didn’t know how to give up.

Unless, of course, he had a good reason.

Like a woman who just couldn’t bring herself to let him in.

She shook that fleeting thought away; Emma had never been very good at self-analyzing, and doing it was making her incredibly irritable. She didn’t want to be irritable, she wanted to be goddamned certain for once. So, she latched onto that feeling and headed for Granny’s, knowing somehow that Hook would be there, and if he wasn’t, that he’d eventually find her.

Wouldn’t he?

She had herself good and worked up wondering about that by the time she pushed open the door to the diner, the little tinkling bell a happy sound predicting her feelings because there he was, slumped in a booth, the only patron that late at night. She was glad his back was to the door, because that way he couldn’t see the huge (relieved) grin that split her face as she walked toward him. He sat up straighter as she approached, like he could recognize her by her footsteps or something, which was probably true. She pretended not to notice how he gazed at her as she seated herself across from him, but those eyes of his always were hard to ignore.

“Hey,” she said.

“Swan.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Emma knew she wasn’t imagining the way his eyes widened slightly, kind of in disbelief, kind of in delight. And she definitely wasn’t imagining the way that made her feel--a happy little burble in her gut, like her magical cup runneth-ed over.

He gave her a lazy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t say anything, either; she could tell that whatever was on his mind was still bugging him, so she did her best to cheer him up. They didn’t always need to be so serious, right?

Problem was, he wasn’t responding the way she expected him to, which was annoying. She was trying, dammit! She showed him all of the control she had on her magic now, which was really important to her, and she figured it should be important to him, too. But he didn’t seem amused by her antics, even chiding her like some child for messing around with his hook. Yeah, maybe it was kind of childish making it disappear and then reappear on a coat rack, but her newfound success with controlling her magic was a good thing, and she refused to let his bad mood ruin that.

In fact, she refused to let him not be in a good mood, too.

She thought she knew how to make that happen. Belle had interrupted them at one point, but Emma was determined not to let that get in the way of whatever it was she thought she was doing, and tonight, she was doing Hook. When Granny kicked them out and Belle had rushed off to do more research, Emma turned to him, putting on the best open and easy-going face she had.

“Walk you back to your place?” she offered, doing her best to sound all cute. He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. He studied her for what seemed like forever, his eyes focusing on first her eyes, then the rest of her face, then down her body before going back to her mouth. When he spoke, he was talking directly to that, and it made her tingle with the anticipation of being kissed senseless by a man who knew how to kiss.

“I should think that would lead to...certain activities,” he told her, his voice low and intense.

“That’s the idea,” she said softly, reaching out to flip one of his collar points that had bent inward. Her hand was close enough to feel the night-chilled puff of his breath, and she felt it all the way down to her toes.

He regarded her for another eternity, seeming to be struggling with something, and again, she wanted to know if he was losing interest. It must have showed on her face for his eyes softened, and he gave her that loose, lazy grin of his, this time genuine, and leaned down until their noses were inches apart.

“And what idea would that be, Swan?”

She nearly sighed in relief at the sudden dark intent in his eyes.  _Yes_.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said, trying to sound carefree but coming up short. She shrugged to hide the fact that she was ten seconds away from dragging the damned pirate by the arm and finding the nearest flat surface to fuck him on. “I never did get my turn the other night, and I know that you hate leaving things unfinished, so…”

“Ah,” he said, his voice careful and soft, his face still a kiss away from hers. “I left the lady unsatisfied. For that, I must apologize.” He stepped even closer, his chest touching hers. She hoped against hope that nosy Granny and Ruby didn’t have their faces pressed to the windows, considering Emma and Hook were practically mounting each other just under the arch of the diner’s walkway. His lips were close to hers as he whispered, “Allow me to make it up to you.”

Before she knew it, they were back in his room and she was pressed up against the door, Hook’s face buried in her neck.

_I missed this_ , she thought crazily, considering it had only been a couple of days. She thought she’d said that out loud when he pulled away to look directly into her eyes, but then he was grinning that feral, “I’m gonna fuck you up” grin and she knew he hadn’t heard it, though she wondered. But it was  _this_ \--this version of Hook that she’d missed, the one who couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Several days’ worth of worrying that maybe he’d lost interest was gone in an instant; his hand was everywhere, his mouth was everywhere, and his hips were constantly and consistently brushing against her, hard and insistent, that tell-tale ridge in his pants seeking her out with his usual desperation and precision.

“Swan,” he murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her neck, “you are wearing far too many clothes. I thought I made it clear that I was making it up to you.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, her voice a little more breathy than she’d like, but hell. It wasn’t like they weren’t both very aware that she enjoyed this. They’d done it too many times for her to keep pretending that she wasn’t  _totally_ into being naked with him, though she stubbornly kept up the pretense and he allowed it to stand. “Making what up to me, exactly?” Her breath caught on the last word with a sharp nip to her neck and she mentally shrugged it off; she kind of figured he used those little sounds of hers as cues, anyway. True to form, Hook nibbled that bit of her neck that had made her breath catch again and again, over and over until she was practically a pool of Emma-shaped Jell-o, quivering against the door while a very hot, very virile pirate held her there by the strength of his hips and the insistence of his lips.

“You know what, love,” he laughed into the hollow of her neck, the sound reverberating around in the room and in her head. “That marvelous little...what do you call it here, again? Blow job?” He punctuated this with a sharp bite to her skin, the punishing kind that made her wonder if he was marking her in some chauvinistic need to show anyone paying attention just whose bed Emma was often in or whether it was just because he ran  _that_ hot for her.

Just as she was letting herself get lost in the slightly enjoyable musings that Killian really was that hot for her, he pulled away, the abrupt departure of his mouth and hips leaving her cold, unsteady, and full of dismay.

“What--”

“What’s the matter, Swan? Missing my touch?” he grinned, his teeth flashing in the dark. She crossed her arms and glared at him, ready to turn around and stomp out the door, though she knew she wouldn’t actually do that; it was just that fight-or-flight thing making its presence known. She was too keyed up to bail, and besides. He might take it as a sign that she wasn’t down for orgasms, so she wouldn’t really leave. Not right now, anyway. Probably not the next time, either. She sighed and relaxed her stance, dropping her arms and thumping her head against the door in resignation. Next time. She already knew there would be a next time.

And she didn’t hate the thought.

_Dammit_.

She realized she was taking too long when he started to get that uncertain look on his face that he’d been wearing a lot lately, so she smiled and tried to make it as seductive as possible. She figured that later she could think about how he always, always gave her space whenever she started to act all...Emma. Or how he was always very conscious of what she wanted or needed from him. Yeah, she could think about how goddamned considerate he was some time at a later date, or maybe never.

So maybe that was why she threw him a bone, since he had such a hang-dog look in his eyes, and all.

“Yeah. I miss your touch. So get over here and touch me, already, Killian.”

A month ago, she would have expected him to give her one of those looks that made her feel like he’d just fucked her real quick and left her very satisfied, or maybe even given her a devilish and knowing grin, the kind that said, “I am well aware that you just revealed that you harbor more than tepid feelings toward me, Swan,” but considering all they’d been through and all that was currently happening, she wasn’t surprised too much when the look he gave her was nothing short of pure joy.

It shouldn’t have been that easy to make him that happy. He’s...he was a lot. He deserved more than an emotionally stunted, damaged woman like her.

_He doesn’t want anything more than me, though_.

For once, she didn’t brush the thought away. Maybe it was because she still felt a subtle kind of relief that he wasn’t pulling away, or maybe it was because she was--heaven forbid--finally acknowledging that she was more-than-sort-of-interested in Hook as something more than a fuck buddy; whatever the reason, Emma was feeling good, and that must have been why she decided to ease up on the whole keeping him far away (emotionally, anyway) thing, just for this one night.

“What’re you grinning at?” she said softly, chewing on the corner of her lip in a slight moment of hesitation before continuing. “Just kiss me, okay? Please.”

She decided she was hallucinating the hesitation she saw on his face, that it was just residual Emma-being-Emma. He stepped forward again, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his eyes fixated on her mouth. He licked his lips and it set off a reaction deep down inside, the kind that made her chest flutter and then radiated down to her pelvis and tickled the insides of her thighs. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than his mouth on her, everywhere, and she just  _knew_ he would deliver.

_Captain Hook must have been some kind of pirate_ , she thought as he leaned in, and she wondered, not for the first or even the eighth time, how many grateful women he’d ravished back in the day, which swiftly brought on the idle idea to play pirate wench, but that would have to come later. Now, she had the surprisingly soft and thick hair of her pirate between her fingers, her hands tugging none-too-lightly, trying to get him to come forward that inch or so that separated them so she could feel his lips brushing hers, so she could breathe in what she knew he felt for her. So she could feel cherished.

Just as their lips were about to connect, he slid his hand down to her neck, his thumb stroking the side of her throat, his other fingers pressing into her skin and gently turning her head to the side. That’s when she felt his kiss, right at the spot beneath her ear, his tongue hot and fluttering against her skin.

She closed her eyes and sank against the door, glad it was there to prop her up. She didn’t know what it was about him because nobody had ever made Emma feel quite this unable to stand, but Hook did it every time. And he knew it, dammit.

“Something wrong with your legs, Swan?” he murmured into her neck, punctuating his smugness with a bite to her earlobe and the rasp of his jaw as it brushed hers.

“Yeah,” she panted, feeling a splash of bravada straightening her spine, even if her legs were still a little questionable. “They aren’t wrapped around your shoulders.”

“A bold statement,” he observed, moving his head to meet her eyes.

“Well, I’m feeling bold tonight,” she said, tilting her chin up and licking her lips, practically begging him to kiss her.

“You’re a bold woman, to be sure,” he agreed, nodding thoughtfully, his own lips parted but decidedly  _not_ kissing her. What’s a girl gotta do to get a pirate to make out, anyway?

But she forgot her sudden and intense need to be kissed when he pulled her to him, their chests bumping with a slight gasp from her and a mischievous grin from him.

“Come, love,” he said, his left arm wrapping around her waist and his hand reaching out to move her hair off her shoulder. He caressed her throat briefly, his fingers moving to massage the back of her neck and his voice almost kind as he continued. “Let’s see about getting those lovely legs up on my shoulders where they belong.” She could only nod and grin stupidly in response. She could picture it so, so clearly.

Killian was  _really_ good at going down on a girl.

He seemed intent on taking things slow, which both frustrated and pleased her. Sometimes when they did this, he was unbelievably impatient, pushing her into positions that made her delightfully sore for days afterward, the evidence more permanent in the ripped underwear and torn lace on her bras--items she kept because it made her smile to see them sitting in her drawer like lewd participation trophies from the Olympics of Fucking. Other times, however, he liked to draw things out--really make a girl work for it until she was practically begging him to just  _fuck_ her already, God.

She honestly didn’t know which Hook she preferred.

_Both_ , she realized with a little bit of surprise. She preferred both versions of him. Whichever he was willing to give, that’s the one she wanted.

Huh.

“You’re thinking far too much for a woman who just demanded she wrap her legs around my head,” he said, bringing her out of her musings. It was funny, he was usually the one who got introspective when they were being intimate--she knew something was wrong with him, but now there was something wrong with her, too.

“Shoulders, Killian. I said shoulders.” He tilted his head to the side to look at her, a question in his eyes. “What now?” she said, her voice a little snappy, which she really tried not to do when it was just the two of them like this, so she softened her tone and tried again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just…”

“Spit it out,” she said, snapping again, but she could almost feel the tendrils of arousal retreating, and it was so like him to get all.... _Killian_  about things when she was practically offering herself on a silver platter, desperate to be naked and panting.

Instead of getting offended as she expected and because she was feeling a little more honest than usual, Emma had to acknowledge that his getting all defensive every time she attacked but doubling down on the effort was probably what she liked best about him, even more than the oral sex. He softened visibly, even smiling a little, which was infuriating.

“You’ve been calling me Killian more often,” he finally said, his voice and face hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should be sharing that observation with her. Well, what was she, some skittish colt that needed to be treated delicately in case she shied away?

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes--”

“Because I can stop if you don’t like it--”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, it’s rather nice, actually, I simply--”

“Hook,” she sighed, reaching out and pinching his earlobe between two fingers. She didn’t let go, instead tugging twice while grinning at him so he knew she was still into  _this_ , whatever this was. “Not to rush things along, or anything, but I’m going to go over there,” and here she let go and waved vaguely toward his bed, “take my clothes off, and lie down on the bed, right there in that patch of moonlight. Please come over and join me, and feel free to kiss me at some point.” He grinned in response, his eyes roving over her mouth and back up again. He lifted his eyebrow and she couldn’t help it, the cockiness of the movement made the entire area between her legs clench.

“Kiss you where, Miss Swan?”

“Wherever,” she shrugged, moving away from him and taking a step toward the bed. She took her jacket off and dropped it to the floor, which she knew bugged him, so she looked at him over her shoulder as she began unbuttoning her shirt. She watched him as he stood there, staring at her intently, his jaw clenching occasionally. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have assumed he was angry, but she knew that it was more like he was holding back from just rushing over there and tearing her clothes off. She could feel his tension across the room but instead of rushing herself, she felt like drawing the moment out. Unfastening the last few buttons with care, taking a breath in between each. Loosening the buttons at each wrist, pausing to look at him over her shoulder each time. Slowly pulling off one arm, then the other, letting the shirt fall off and land behind her.

He just stood there watching, taking her in. She couldn’t put words to how it made her feel, not really. She knew she felt soft and good undressing in front of him like this, slow and teasing. And faith, she felt faith that he wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. Maybe that’s what it was--comfort, she felt  _comfortable_ with him.

Even though she’d been making it a point to draw it out as much as possible, before she realized it, she was naked and approaching the bed. She was starting to get cold despite the general warmth of the room and the heated stare of the patient man standing somewhere behind her, so when she climbed up onto his bed and flopped over, she arranged herself as seductively as she could manage, praying he’d get the hint and come cover her body with his.

He didn’t, of course. Damn him.

He just stood there, that intense and dark look still on his face, that clench of his jaw the only movement aside from the way his eyes darted over her. Even in the blue-dark dimness of the room, she could see it, the streetlights from outside casting half his body in light, half in dark.

_Come over here_ , she silently pleaded.

She opened her mouth to say that exact thing, womanly pride be damned, but luckily, he got the message. He always got the message with her, even when she wasn’t really aware she’d sent it.

In one very smooth (though she’d never say so) maneuver, he yanked off his coat while cutting the distance between the door and the bed. He stopped right at the side, his hand busy unbuttoning, his eyes trained on her face as he continued undressing. She wanted to feel the burn of his gaze down her body almost as much as she wanted to feel his actual hand and mouth on it, but he didn’t oblige her; he simply stared and unbuttoned, and she felt like she was gonna squirm right out of her own skin. Sometimes, a girl just wanted to be touched, dammit!

He had stepped into shadow, the light streaming in from the window just behind him, and she frowned when she realized it. She curled her legs in and turned to her side, reaching up to turn the bedside lamp on. When she’d laid back in position and looked up at Hook again, he’d succeeded in removing his vest but didn’t seem inclined toward removing his shirt. He also had that eyebrow cocked and a smirk on his face.

“Shut up. I wanna watch tonight.”

“I’m hardly complaining.”

“I figured you’d…” She took a deep breath and swallowed. Emma wasn’t usually the one doing the dirty talk--Hook, of course, could teach a master class on the subject. “I like watching you when you...do stuff.”

He threw his head back, his eyebrow going even higher as he held her eye.

“Do you, now?”

“Yeah.” She took another steadying breath and rose onto her elbows, scooting around until her body was perfectly aligned with his. She lifted her knees and then let one leg fall so that she was bared to him. His eyes traveled down and fixated there; without lifting his gaze, he slowly and deliberately licked his lips, his chest rising and falling visibly with each breath he took.

“What kind of...stuff?” he asked, his eyes still trained where she was probably very pink and very wet.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugged, her own chest rising and falling rapidly. “Kissing me in places.”

“Which places?”

He tilted his head from side to side then lifted his arm. His fingers brushed his ear before landing behind his neck, and in one swift move he’d pulled his shirt up over his head, carelessly tossing it to the floor.

“Well, here,” she said, bending her wrist to point toward her face. He finally dragged his gaze from between her thighs, the corner of his mouth lifting as he saw the direction she was pointing. Then he sighed softly, his eyes darting to the side briefly before returning to meet her gaze.

“That all?”

She laid back, lifting a hand up to brush her hair away so she wasn’t lying on it. She brought her arm down slowly, feeling inspired by the way he was gazing at her face. That intense but somehow soft look made her feel bold. She let her hand land on her breast, squeezing the pleasing plumpness gently. Drawing her fingers slowly up her flesh, she felt her hips shift when her nails raked her areola and then her nipple. Pinching it between two fingers, her breath caught when he inhaled deeply.

“Here’s good.”

“Very good,” he agreed, his voice somewhat grim and very deep. He cleared his throat and then said, “Anywhere else?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she said lightly, feeling giddy with anticipation. She desperately wanted him to do something, anything, but there was definitely something to be said for drawing it out like this, teasing him and watching him react to what she was doing. She just knew he’d enjoy watching her touch herself, and she wondered if she had the guts to do that. Suddenly, it was the only thing she wanted to do--get off while he watched. The expressions he’d make. Looking like some sleek, black panther ready to pounce on some hapless, juicy prey. God, that would be hot.

He always did say that she was an open book, and with her legs open, he seemed especially literate. Without lifting his gaze, his hand slowly crept toward the laces at his waistband while her own hand slowly crept down, her fingertips brushing down her skin, down her ribs, down her belly, down to the area between her thighs. He followed the slow movement of her hand with his eyes while his hand was busily working on his pants.

By the time her fingers brushed the neatly trimmed hair and the mound of flesh between her thighs he’d gotten the laces loosened enough to give her an enticing peek at what was beneath, but he stilled his hand the moment she’d reached her destination, so she paused, too.

“Lemme see it,” she breathed out, licking her lips and looking up to see his reaction. He smirked, of course, but then the movement of his hand caught her eye, and she watched as he palmed himself through his pants before hooking his thumb around the separation in the laces and pulled down slowly, revealing more as he went. Emma had a vision of sitting up and finishing it for him because he was taking so damn long, but she made herself keep still, wondering if she could do anything to hurry him along. The anticipation was killing her; the anticipation was keying her up; the anticipation was going to make her come with a whimper. Her fingers started gliding softly, almost without her noticing--kind of mindless movements, like her hand was doing its own thing, instinctively rubbing because she needed to be touched.

Then Hook stopped taking his pants off, and she almost screamed. She looked at his face to glare at him and was arrested by what she saw there--the man was mesmerized. She realized he was so busy watching her fingers that he’d gotten distracted from getting naked.

What power he was giving her.

The thought of rendering the great and fearsome Captain Hook, piratey scourge of the whatever, immobile, filled her with awe and made her  _want_. God, she wanted him to touch her. But she was already touching herself. While he watched. Her fingers fluttered a little lower and encountered an embarrassing and intriguing amount of wetness; dipping into it, she moved back up, gently circling over her clit, the slickness making her breath catch at how fucking good it felt.

She was so fucking wet that had he not been standing there, slack-jawed and watching her, she might have been content with getting herself off. But he  _was_ standing there, not doing anything, and she needed that to change.

She widened her legs and gave herself a few more cursory flicks before drawing her hand away. She looked at his face, at the way his eyes followed her every movement, the way they darkened when she slowly lifted her wrist, her fingers dangling above her skin as she drew her hand higher. She took a deep breath and held it, then stopped her hand just above her breast. Looking directly at him, even though his eyes were still trained on her hand, she swirled the tip of her middle finger around her nipple.

Movement from between his thighs caught her eye; she was pretty sure his cock had moved. As she locked gazes with him, she couldn’t help the sly grin curling the corner of her mouth, and he noticed her smugness. Clenching his jaw and drawing his brows down, he finally, fucking  _finally_ took a step closer.

She lifted her fingers to her lips and sucked on them. Her reward to him for coming closer to touching her.

“Emma,” he choked out, a tortured expression on his face. Ha! Now she knew another way to shut him up. Tasting herself. She’d done it before and it was always slightly strange--familiar, somehow, in the way that sex has a certain smell and taste that she wouldn’t be able to describe to anyone, but now she felt like she could write a three-parter series on the topic, with Captain Hook the star of her filthy and graphic erotica.

She hummed thoughtfully, licking the last vestiges of her taste off her fingers, trying to put a name to it. She’d bet all the buried treasure in all of the realms that Killian would know the exact word for it, but when asked, he’d simply say, “delicious.”

She dropped her arm back down and dipped her fingers inside of her once again, briefly, before removing them with a soft sigh and offering them up to him. “Care for a taste?” she asked casually, as if she wouldn’t die if he refused.

As if he would.

Holding her gaze, he stepped forward until his knees hit the bed between her legs and leaned his head down, his lips closing around her offering. He closed his eyes and groaned softly as his tongue did obscene, promising things to her, flicking between her two fingers to get every last bit. He pulled away, licking his lips and letting out a few shallow, heavy breaths. When he looked at her she was amazed that she didn’t disintegrate on the spot, so hot was fire burning in his eyes.

“Right, then, Swan. Flip over.” He broke their gaze and finished taking off his pants then his boots, his abrupt and precise movements and clipped tone confusing her. She rose to her elbows again and looked at him like he was a crazy person. Flip over? Wasn’t he gonna eat her out?

“I thought--”

“I prefer the unpredictable,” he said conversationally, leaning down to pick up his pants and shirt. Wearing nothing but the leather straps holding his hook in place, he folded his clothes slowly and carefully, laying them down on the chair under the window. Then the maddening man leaned down to pick up  _her_ clothes and fold them, adding them to his stack. When he turned back around he lifted his brow, looking at her sternly, like a teacher about to punish a particularly willful schoolgirl.  _Now there’s a thought._  She looked back at him, still incredulous that he wasn’t between her legs and eating her like a man devouring his last meal before his execution. He raised his left arm and twirled his wrist, his hook glinting like it was winking at her, his right hand ridiculously propped on his naked hip.

“Fine,” she huffed, wondering where this was all going. Maybe he was doing something new? Eating her out from behind? She could be into that, right? Maybe? If Killian was the one doing the eating? She flipped over, her breasts crushed against the quilt, her arms stretching out, her hands resting on top of each other just above her head.

Anticipation started to make her pulse race when she felt the dip of the mattress as he climbed aboard. She nearly jumped when he touched her hips, hook and hand gently lifting her, arranging her just so. The rasp of the hair on his legs both scratched and tickled as he then arranged himself, his knees between her thighs, spreading her wider with an insistent nudge. She felt the cool metal of his hook at the small of her back, and then the soft caress of his hand as it swept along the curve of her ass.

She sighed deeply, her entire body relaxing at the gentle touch, her heartbeat easing into a low, thrumming rhythm, even as her blood seemed to surge hot and fast through her veins. He always made her feel like this, so...soothed. Adored.

She swallowed as she realized she’d become addicted to the feeling. She never wanted it to stop.

Like he knew the self-realizations she was going through, he began. Gently at first, his fingers squeezing the flesh of her cheek before dipping inward, just inside and along the seam of her ass and down, down to where she wanted his touch, soft and wet and yes. She expelled a soft breath as he ran the line of his fingertips along her flesh, playing with her, not quite giving her what she needed, which was a hard, deep thrust inside.

When he drew his touch away, she almost sobbed in protest.

_Patience, Swan_ , he seemed to think into the silence.

She felt him moving around somewhere behind her and boy, did the pirate have a knack for dramatic pauses. He seemed to take his sweet time doing whatever it was he was doing, the bed creaking with his movements, the brush of his leg against her inner thighs electrifying her, amplifying everything. She held her breath, sensing he was about to make his move, trying not to die from anticipation.

Finally, fucking  _finally_ he leaned over her. She felt the soft brush of his palm between her shoulder blades, the gentle sweep of his fingers in her hair as he brushed it aside. He placed a barely-there kiss right at the nape of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Then the glorious heaviness as he laid right on top of her, the at once hard and soft angles of him lining up with her body, the hair that she knew dusted his torso pressing into her back, the wonderful, hot hard heat of his cock resting just on top of the crease of her ass.

He shuddered heavily, enough to make goosebumps flash down her arms and on down to her legs. His breath was hot against her ear, and her toes curled involuntarily.

_Move, already_ , she silently demanded, begged, pleaded. She spared a thought to thank the gods of birth control that she’d been good about taking her pill every day, at least since they’d gotten back from Neverland, anyway.

Gently, oh-so gently, he nuzzled into her neck and then took her earlobe between his teeth; with a soft bite, he then took a deep breath and slid his legs from on top of hers to between them, settling in for a bit. Emma took a deep breath.

_God, please say it’s now_ , she thought with a soft whimper. She wiggled her hips in invitation.

His dark chuckle was infuriating, and it was hot. It reminded her of the first time she’d demanded he take his pants off. Humid Neverland, terrible circumstances. Her desperation, his frustration. Her need of an outlet for all of the restless energy she’d had. His understanding. His compliance. His eagerness disguised as an apathetic, plundering pirate.

His hips ruthlessly pistoning against hers as he fucked her on all fours on the dirty floor of the damp, hot jungle.

She was so briefly lost in the memory of their first time together that she almost missed it when he lifted his hips, but the insistent slide of his cock down her ass shocked her back to the present. Breath held, she squeezed her eyes shut and wondered if he’d be kind.

He wasn’t.

Thank  _God_.

His torso slid down her back a bit as he lifted his hips, and she couldn’t help inhaling in anticipation of the moment--that delicious moment when he’d finally get to business. He didn’t, of course. She decided he was trying to kill her when he paused, his breathing heavy and shaking his entire body, the head of his cock occasionally brushing the curve of her ass.  _What the hell are you waiting for?_  she wanted to scream, demand, cry. Just when she was about to shove him away so she could take control, he showed her once again that when it came to a good, solid fucking, he was the one in control. His pushed his hips down, his cock brushing along the crease of her ass and down to her slick crease. He didn’t press in, of course; no, the patient bastard seemed intent on drawing it out as much as possible. He teased her entrance, swiveling his hips in a delicious swirl, dipping in slightly just like she’d done with her fingers but not quite going in.

No longer able to hold it in, she exhaled heavily, a low moan escaping from her lips.

“Killian,” she whispered, begging.

Maybe that’s what he’d been waiting for. Without any indication, he plunged deep inside of her, the both of them expelling matching, relieved breaths at the sensation.

_God_.

Good. It was too good. God, it was so good. He pulled back and plunged back in as quickly, his breath hot and a little desperate in her ear. She closed her eyes and gave into it, knowing it would be incredible. It always was. She began to notice that in this new position, he seemed to be hitting her in a new way--same places, same force of thrust, same Killian--but different, somehow. God, how many ways could one man fuck her and make it seem new every time?

On a particularly hard thrust she heard the tell-tale hiss of his loss of control, a thing she’d spent some time studying. Hook could probably fuck for hours, and sometimes it seemed like he did. Sometimes it was quick and dirty, sometimes it was drawn-out with him edging her over and over again until she was practically sobbing in frustration. She wondered what he’d do this time.

Without pulling out, he ground into her and then did a quick push-up like shove, lifting his chest from her back and sliding in even deeper. Her guttural groan made him grunt in response and his hips snapped against her ass with brute force;  _quick and dirty, then._

Or maybe not.

He stopped.

Goddammit.

She squeezed the muscles enveloping his cock and arched her back, wiggling her hips a bit to make him keep going.

“Fuck, Emma.” Normally when he gritted that out, it was a signal that he was about to make her come, a slip in his normally tightly-held control indicating he couldn’t take it anymore.

Not this time.

She wished she could see his face. She wished she could look at him and make him look back at her and pull him down into a sloppy kiss. Good as this position was, the one disadvantage was that she couldn’t do those things. She could analyze why she suddenly, desperately needed him to kiss her later. For now, she needed to decide if she wanted him to just finish her off like this or flip her over so she could get some attention on her clit.

He pulled out completely, but before she could start yelling at him to get back to business, he’d lifted her hips, her lower back protesting a little at the position. She readjusted, sliding down on the mattress a bit and sticking her ass up a little more. Grunting in satisfaction, he shifted his knees so they were flanking her legs and tightened, making her thighs come together. How obscene they must’ve looked just then. She wished there was a full-length mirror in this room so she could catch a glimpse.

Before she could start wondering whether he was just gonna hover there and look at her all night, his cock was pressing against her entrance again, and this time when he entered her on a forceful thrust, she gasped in shock.  _Holy shit._  “Holy shit,” she breathed; the angle was  _incredible_. Full, she felt so full. Full of cock. Rubbing in the perfect place. It was the perfect angle. Over and over she felt it as he pumped away, the ridge along the head of his cock catching her in exactly the right place and exactly the right way. The tingle that started where he was hitting her tickled up her spine and radiated back down to her toes, making them curl, the movement tightening every muscle in her legs.

She didn’t think it could get any better than that--her legs tight, her ass high, her swollen wetness and his throat making deliciously dirty sounds as he pounded away. She was mindless with how good it felt, not caring that her cheek was getting warm as his thrusts jostled her entire body, her face making friction against the bedspread. Needing to relieve the ache that was building up inside, Emma started to twist her spine so she could bring one of her arms down and under, intent on helping herself along by going back to rubbing her clit. But then he dropped down, his chest once again covering her back, his face right in her neck and his hook braced against the mattress near her head.

“Bad form, Swan. You already had the opportunity to touch yourself. Don’t be greedy. It’s my turn.”

He grabbed her elbow and roughly shoved her arm away before she could get her fingers underneath her, and she whimpered at his cruelty in not letting her touch herself. But Killian Jones was a giver; still ruthlessly pounding away, he gave her neck a punishing bite. She gasped when she felt his hand continuing the abandoned path of hers, lifting her right hip a little so he could slide his hand under. As his hips picked up the pace, she felt his fingers digging into her skin until they found home, and when they slid along her clit, she couldn’t help it. She sobbed, loud and embarrassing.

“So wet,” he breathed into her ear. She clenched in response; he hissed and his cock seemed to get even harder, more insistent, more frantic.

Before she knew it, she was sliding into an easy, tremulous orgasm, the focus of her entire world. Her body began to shake and shiver, and she cried out softly in disbelieving pleasure.

He pulled his hand away just before it became too much, which was a good thing, because she was too bone-weary to do it for him. He’d slowed his pace by the time she’d recovered enough to remember her name and how she got there, but it didn’t take too long to figure out he hadn’t come, too.

Smiling into the quilt, she squeezed her internal muscles twice just to hear him groan. He pulled out and eased off of her, his still-hard cock wet and slapping the back of her thigh.

Groaning easily, Emma flipped over, careful of his still-eager erection as she re-positioned her legs on either side of him. He was on his knees, regarding her steadily if somewhat grimly--a man who knew what he wanted but wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to go about doing it.

She had some ideas.

“Come up here,” she said, somewhat surprised at how hoarse she sounded, but she supposed she had been breathing pretty hard for a while there.

He shook his head, and to her surprise, that filled her with disappointment. She wanted to be kissed, dammit! Why hadn’t he kissed her yet? Was it because of whatever it was that was going on with him? It wasn’t lost on her that he was kissing her less the longer whatever was wrong with him went unaddressed. Wasn’t he the one who was always going on and on about intimacy and how she was afraid of it? What’s more intimate than kissing?

Feeling mutiny coming on, she fixed him with an angry eye, but that only made him chuckle darkly. Without a word, he dropped down to his elbows in between her legs, and her entire body unclenched its anger.

_Oh, okay._  That kind of kissing.

He fixed her with one more dark, amused look and then dropped his jaw before leaning in and licking one long, obscene swipe up the wet crease between her thighs.

Her legs jerked reflexively, her skin still sensitive after her orgasm, but after that initial lick, he was terribly gentle. Almost kind, really. She watched his head turning this way and that, his hair flopping around crazily, so much so that she wanted to comb her fingers through it, fix it for him. He kissed her very, very softly, reverently; his tongue darted out with a few flicks to her clit, a sharp dart of painful pleasure shooting up her pelvis. She lifted her knees weakly to accommodate his shoulders and he eased his arms under her ass, lifting her hips so he could better eat at her. It was so soft and delicate that she sighed deeply, her eyes closing in bliss. He continued to kiss and lick her, the contact so easy and gentle that she felt lulled into near sleep at how  _lovely_ it felt. Wasn’t it just like him to fuck her within an inch of her life and follow it up with head that was so tender, she could’ve just laid there for hours, letting him lick her without making her come?

At some point she began to come back to herself, feeling slightly more alert and aware of what he was doing. Occasionally, he’d hit a spot that hadn’t been a part of her original orgasm and her body buzzed with the almost, but she must’ve jerked or gasped in warning, because he backed off as a result. Very much unlike his usual repertoire, where one soft moan from her would mean he doubled down on the effort, pinpointing the exact spot and swirling his tongue or sucking her into his mouth until she came and came and came. Not this time, though; this time, he seemed intent on drawing it out as much as possible with as little pressure as possible, his tongue wide and languid as he worked, his lips sucking barely-there kisses against her clit, then one thigh, then sliding down to her labia and across to the other side. He looked up at her then, grinning briefly at whatever he saw in her face before taking a deep breath and burying his face right into her swollen cleft. She gasped, her hand coming down to bury itself in his hair; oh. Yeah. She could feel it coming again.  _Please don’t back away, please don’t--_

He didn’t.

His tongue became a furious thing, wiggling and flicking and darting into her. She felt a coil winding up tight inside, a piercing and shockingly intense sensation making her muscles tense and making her need relief. “Yes,” she breathed in encouragement, her hips starting to thrust against his mouth. He slid his hand over her hip, squeezing it briefly before drifting across her belly and then down to where he was working. His fingers slid easily over her clit, plunging down as he became a mad thing, his mouth and teeth and tongue everywhere. He pressed on the delicate flesh surrounding her clit with his fingertips and then lifted up, his lips closing over her clit and gently sucking it into his mouth as his tongue did unspeakably wicked things to it. She became nothing but sensation, dimly aware through the sharp pleasure that she was getting loud and not giving a fuck. Her hips thrust and his mouth was unrelenting; she could hear him making these filthy sounds of approval, encouraging her and taking her higher and higher until she burst in a harsh and heady explosion of pure and aching wonder, time pausing for just one moment while he worked her through it. She gasped and arched and her eyes popped open, the sight of Killian between her legs with her hand clenched tightly in his hair somehow making the comedown more satisfying than she would have believed.

He let go of her with one last sloppy, wet kiss, his panting breath hot against her now incredibly swollen flesh. Emma was breathing pretty hard herself, looking at him with awe.

“Wow,” was all she could say as he met her eye, his smile smug and his eyes flashing with sensual satisfaction. He held her eye and she bit her lip, doing her best to catch her breath without falling into a deep and peaceful sleep. Still holding her eye, he dropped his chin and gave her one last, very soft kiss just at the top of her mound, carefully avoiding touching any overly-sensitive areas. A goddamned gentleman, this pirate of hers.

He let go of her legs and she fell back onto the bed completely, utterly spent and unable to move. She felt so pleasantly exhausted, her entire body buzzing and ready for sleep, lazy and delicious. He lifted to his knees before dropping his arms down on either side of her. Crawling up slowly, he fixed her with a face she saw sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, though he didn’t seem to be hiding it from her now.

_Love_. The thought flitted through her mind, or more like the echoed impression of the word. She was too tired to fight the notion, anyway, too much in a daze from two mind-melting orgasms.

She didn’t push it away. Not this time. She was too strung out on him to bother with fighting herself.

Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by that knowing, smirking pirate face he usually wore. He continued crawling up her body, laying down more sloppy kisses here and there, his scruff rough and wet from her as it brushed the side of her breast, his teeth gentle as he nipped at her collarbone. He kissed her chin, then both cheekbones, then the spot between her eyebrows. She could smell herself on him--her way of marking him in the best way possible.

She felt the brush of his cock and she reached out for it, her arm still boneless and heavy with the effort, but as her fingers brushed his shaft and clasped around it, squeezing lightly, he dropped his head into her neck and groaned, the sound teasing a soft response inside of her that knocked around her body, impossibly making her inner muscles clench again, almost in protest. She closed her eyes and squeezed him once more to see if she could elicit that delicious groan again. He didn’t disappoint.

Sucking a kiss at her pulse, he lifted up on his elbows and didn’t move until she opened her eyes. She expected more of that self-satisfied smugness, but what she saw nearly made her melt right into the mattress: triumph, desperate and deserved. A man on the verge of conquering.

_This is what he must look like just before running some bastard through with a sword._

“Emma. I want you to do something for me,” he murmured, lifting his hand to run his fingers through her tangled mess of hair. “I want you to come again. Can you do that for me, Emma?”

She felt a shiver go up her spine, even as she shook her head weakly and whimpered in protest.

“I--”

She licked her lips, discovering them to be dry, which was unsurprising considering all the moisture in her body was smeared all over his face. She looked up into his eyes, and the intensity burning there nearly took her breath away. He was a bottled-up coil of tension, one slight touch away from unleashing all of that passion and emotion he wore on his sleeve constantly, and she wanted to taste it. Tired as she was, she wanted to have a piece of it, to feel that emotion she knew he felt for her pouring into her and through her.

Suddenly overwhelmed, she closed her eyes and tilted her chin up, hoping for a kiss. She felt his breath against her forehead, his moistened lips brushing against her there just between her eyebrows, and she nearly laughed. Well, he couldn’t always give her what she wanted, right?

She felt herself nodding before she realized what she’d agreed to.

“Not sure I have another one in me, but--”

“I’ll find it, Swan. Don’t you worry.”

With that promise, he lowered his pelvis and she weakly slid her legs open. His cock brushed against her, making her body jerk, and then he was gliding inside, soft and true.

And whereas the other two rounds had been frenzied and rough, this time was different. In fact, it was different from all of the other times they’d been together, too. This time it was slow, and it was...nice. His entire body was on top of hers, moving slowly, his skin touching her skin with no real hurry. He leaned over on his left elbow and lifted his right hand to cup around the side of her throat, the tips of his fingers massaging at the back of her neck and his thumb making soothing arcs from her jaw and across her throat. He looked into her eyes and she looked back, naked and unafraid as he continued thrusting into her, her swollen flesh protesting at first but then relaxing as he filled her up, his lips hovering over hers.

This time, she didn’t want him to kiss her. Not like this. It would be too much. So she didn’t tip her chin up and offer her lips to him, and he didn’t try to claim them. No; he just kept looking at her, all of his emotions right there in his steady gaze as he slid in and out of her.

For the first time, she was honest with herself about him. She wondered what it would be like to make love with a man like Killian Jones.

Deep down inside in a place that had no relation to the swelling heat beginning to swirl inside of her again, she knew that she didn’t really have to wonder.

But then that heat started to grow hotter and impossibly more as he picked up the pace, his breath catching when she experimentally squeezed her muscles, and then he got that look in his eye that meant the point of no return; she lifted one leg and slid her foot up the back of his thigh, opening herself up to him even more. His eyes closed and he shuddered when she found the strength to squeeze again and again, her hips tilting up so he could fall deeper, harder, allowing him to take her any way he’d have her. His eyes drifted open and she leaned up to offer herself to him, her breath hot against his chin before she nipped just under it, her teeth rasping against his scruff before she kissed it. He groaned then, low and long, his face dropping down until his lips were next to the corner of her mouth. He drove into her, hard enough that she could hear the headboard thump against the wall, and she smiled at the first sign of him losing control. She could feel herself getting worked up again and knew it was coming, but it was a fleeting thing, an orgasm that might not be. She needed to encourage it; she didn’t want to disappoint him by not coming again. He asked so little of her; surely, she could do this one thing for him.

Lifting one arm, she grasped his shoulder and then slid her hand up, over the sinewy lines of his neck, her fingers tickling over his ear, her thumb brushing down the roughness of his sideburn. His breath caught and he looked into her eyes, his hips easing slightly as he pulled all the way out.

“Emma,” he said softly, and with a note of wonder. She craned her neck up and kissed above the corner of his mouth, just as he’d done to her.

His hips came down, hard, the motion pulling his head away. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his entire body stilling with tension as a look of absolute torture came over his face; she squeezed, just because she could, and when his eyes opened, it was with a look of apology that he started to thrust into her, hard and sure.

And holy shit, was it good.

He lifted away from her, his arms straight as his hips pumped, and it was all she could do to lift both legs up and wide, keeping them steady because he’d found it. Another spot that was getting wound tighter and tighter. She’d hurt in the morning but shit, was it worth it--he started making these decadent, helpless sounds, his groans getting louder and more desperate, her own panting moans turning into frantic, mindless pleas for release. She felt a small prick of  _right there_  and squeezed tight, her muscles protesting as they rejoiced in the white-hot pulse beginning somewhere deep inside, somewhere he’d never hit before. She was sliding into blind sensation just before his entire body tensed, her cries mingling with his desperate gasps and harsh moans, his hips jerking against her several times as he hit a hot, heaving high that made her every muscle stiffen, locking in place as a tingling wave of piercing delight washed over her, drawing her under completely.

It was several moments before she came to this time. Her awareness flowed over her slowly, her chest unable to take a deep breath because he had collapsed on top of her. The acknowledgement that if he moved away, she just might kill him because it was...good. The tightness of her thigh muscles, the knowledge that she’d be sore tomorrow. Her lower back hurt, too. The too-much tickle of his chest hair when he shifted, like he was going to lift away, but she wrapped her arms around him and put her palms on his shoulder blades, urging him to stay. The warmth at her neck as he tried to ease his own breathing. His cock inside of her, still and unmoving, which was a good thing because she’d probably die if he managed to find yet another spot that could use some attention.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbled into her neck, his voice so incoherent she almost didn’t understand him, but she did. Maybe because they’d done this so often, or maybe because she knew that she really  _did_ understand him. He lifted onto his arms and she sighed deeply, not just because she sorely needed to take a good, deep breath of air.

He slowly started to roll off of her and as a final goodbye, she squeezed one last time, making him gasp-giggle as he pulled out. She looked up at him, feeling a twinkle in her eye, and he narrowed his eyes as he looked back. He smacked the side of her thigh as he pulled away completely, not hard enough to punish, but hard enough that she wondered if he’d do that for her the next time they got together.

The next time.

She didn’t know how she managed it, but she lifted to her elbows wearily as he walked over to the armoire on the other side of the room. Admiring the lean, lanky lines of him, she watched him open the doors and fumble around for a fresh shirt.

“I thought you slept in the nude.”

He closed the armoire and turned, making his way back to the bed. He tossed the black, blousy, piratey shirt on the bed near her. Without looking her in the eye, he began to unlatch the buckles that kept his hook brace in place, his movements slow and ponderous. He looked tired. And it was no wonder, with the stellar performance he’d just put on. She was amazed he hadn’t simply rolled over and fallen asleep and taken her with him. But then again, they’d never done that.

“It’s not for me.”

That was it. No invitation to stay over, no pleading Killian Jones puppy eyes. It was almost like he knew that if he’d asked her to stay, she’d have to refuse. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her at all, choosing instead to focus his always intense attention on taking off his hook--another intimacy they’d never shared. Hook being hookless around Emma.

She could get up and leave. She could roll her ass over, slide off the bed, make her way on wobbly legs to her clothes, yank them on, and get the hell out of there. Like she’d done every other time. It would be so easy. She sat up with a wince, her eyes darting to the door then to her clothes, biting her lip in indecision. It was getting harder and harder to leave him like this. Because he’d fucked her so good, of course. She was tired and sore and in need of a good night’s sleep so she could prepare for whatever battle was next.

He turned around, his back muscles flexing with tension, like he was waiting for the moment she’d leave him. And that hurt. That he knew her so well.

Suppressing the sigh of disgust at her own predictability, she reached over for the shirt he’d gotten for her to sleep in. Trying not to overthink it, she pulled it over her head and then scooted backward, scrabbling at the edges of the quilt so she could crawl underneath. She’d climbed under just as she heard the thunk of his hook and brace hitting the floor.

When he turned around, all of her dithering over whether to go or stay was paid off by the stunned look on his face. He didn’t even bother to hide it, his jaw dropping and his eyes raking her over several times before his surprise turned into a wide smile.

“Shut up. I’m tired.”

He shrugged and made an “I didn’t say a word, Swan,” face, but there was no mistaking the utter delight on his face as he crawled in next to her.

She reached up to turn the bedside light off, and when she flopped back down, her body finally telling her, “please, no more effort,” he was immediately there, curling around her as she turned onto her side. He pressed a soft, sex-scented kiss to her cheek before dropping his head on the pillow next to hers, his hand squeezing her hip briefly before coming to rest just on the top of her thigh.

The last thing she thought as she drifted off to sleep, aside from, “Am I gonna hate this in the morning?” was to wonder if he was ever going to tell her what it was that was bugging him.

Maybe she could get it out of him after they’d finished dealing with the Wicked Witch. That’s it. Deal with the current crisis, then Emma Swan and Killian Jones were going to have a nice, long chat about whatever was going on, and what she could do to make it better. Because whether she wanted to admit it or not, they really were in some sort of kind-of relationship, and she may have a fucked-up idea of what relationships were supposed to be like, but she knew one thing: they didn’t involve so many secrets, and they involved more kissing, both sex and non sex-related.

Resolving to get both confession and kisses from him soon, she drifted off to sleep feeling deeply satisfied (in more ways than one). And if Hook’s lips brushed over her jaw, cheek, the bridge of her nose, her temple, her forehead--any place that wasn’t her mouth as she slept--she didn’t know it.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! that was a lot, i know. i love you all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! and hopefully commenting!!!!!!!!!!!! part 2 and emma coming soon


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